


L'illusionniste

by Chimerari



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimerari/pseuds/Chimerari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, years later, Cobb calls him a hard man to love. But so was Arthur, Eames muses, so was Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	L'illusionniste

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr me folks](http://rosengris.tumblr.com/)

If Eames learns one thing from this life, it’s to avoid a certain Dominic Cobb at all cost. Don’t get him wrong, Cobb is a good person for the most part, he can be a dick sometimes, but never means ill. It’s just his suggestions have the unfortunate tendency to lead Eames into a right mass.

Hindsight is 20/20.

Eames has been in love before, before Arthur. Twice in fact. The first time totally doesn’t count because he was 15. 15 and sitting behind this dark haired girl in class. She would tie the thick tresses into a messy bun when it got too hot. And for the entire summer Eames was transfixed by the patch of skin just above her collar. It was such a trivial thing, but the giddy feeling curled around his bones, trembling and waiting. He promised himself he’d ask her out on New Year’s Eve, he would finally do it. But her family moved away just before Christmas, no one bothered to tell Eames because they were never friends, not really. He only found out when he jogged up to her house and discovered that the place was on sale. They never saw each other again, so there was that.

He hardly ever admits to the second time.

The third time, Cobb gave him a look from across the room. It wasn’t quite pity in his eyes, and Eames raised his glass---a thank you as well as a piss off, I could handle it.

He spent the following month drinking too much, laughing too loud, and fucking the bitter taste of failure out of his system. Occasionally Cobb would let Eames vomit up a vital organ in his pristine bathroom, and lend him the couch.

Figures, Cobb was the only one who didn’t have a social life on a Saturday night.

 

 

 

It started off like this; Eames was on the run, again. And Cobb had no room to spare in his house, not with Mal expecting in a few months. He’s got this friend though, Arthur, who lived on his own, a convenient solution.

Eames always liked things a little bit twisted, flawed. Arthur was everything but. Arthur, with his perfectly gelled back hair, his symmetrical dimples, his three piece suits that were never wrinkled, set Eames’ teeth on edge. He hated him a little on principal.

He was the first roommate Eames’ ever had.   

At first he was afraid that house sharing was going to be eventful at least. They’d fight over cleaning duty and whether the toilet seat should stay down or up, escalating to tense silences and deliberately loud sex (on Eames’s part, obviously. He wasn’t sure if Arthur has ever **seen** a woman’s underwear). Turned out that Arthur was mostly the absent kind of roommate. He’d send dirty laundries out in batches because he didn’t even own an iron. He ordered food in when he was hungry. He’d be gone for days at a time, locked up in his room, only emerging for food and water. He was unfailingly polite but rarely talked. Cobb filled in the blanks when Eames probed; history and English literature major, some sort of journalist, got to know Cobb through work.

Then the same Arthur knocked on Eames’ door and informed him Cobb had a new job offer, they also needed a forger.

Eames was a little thrown.

Arthur, who attempted to boil eggs in the microwave, could aim and shoot and stab and strangle like the best of them, like Eames.

He continued to be thrown.

 

 

 

They worked together well enough, covering each other’s backs. Didn’t mean Eames have to like Arthur, much.

No, seriously, dude needed to relax like nobody’s business. So far Eames has categorized all his facial expressions. The most common ones would be #1, Frowning and #2, Not Frowning.

Tonight he was getting a limited edition---#3, Mildly Intrigued. To be fair, they were surrounded by a bunch of topless women. Skin charged 20 per head at the door, Eames counted that as money well spent. Cobb promptly turned tail when Eames suggested the strip joint, stammering out an excuse. So it was all up to him to loosen the kid up; they were alive, mission accomplished, the night was young, what’s not to celebrate?

‘You _are_ legal right?’ Eames drawled, ‘come on love, buy you a drink.’

Arthur handled shots surprisingly well, he was getting mellower though, the back of his head resting against the booth. Multi-coloured lights swam across his up turned face, paler and smoother than any men had the rights to be. The curve of his jaw deceptively delicate.

Eames nudged his shoulder, ‘Oi, slow down cowboy, you’ll pass out before the fun  part.’

Arthur cracked one eye open, face blank as he seemed to absorb the words. Then he smiled, honest to god smiled, a full-on dimpled, toothy grin; completely out of place yet melting seamlessly into the smoky, sweat-sour surroundings.

‘Why, you offering?’

Eames was only too glad no one was there to witness his reaction.

He ended up watching Arthur getting a lap dance, pink mouth going slack with pleasure, eyes liquid heat. It was a rather charming sight. Eames had the crazy urge to slide one finger down that exposed throat, to feel the tiny involuntary swallows against his palm.

He did just that.

And when the stacked blonde moved away, he kept his hand where it was. Arthur turned towards him, a fine sheen of sweat shiny on his upper lip. It seemed like the most natural thing to lean in and lick it off. Arthur breathed out, puffs of moist air between them. His hips bucked up instinctively when Eames cupped him through the dress pants.

Well, it was terribly rude to leave a man hanging, Eames was told.

 

 

 

Drunken making out with your supposedly straight roommate could go two ways in the morning after: Eames would either be forced to listen to how awesome tits were and man, it was just the alcohol, don’t be getting any ideas. Or there would be a quiet freaking out behind closed doors, and Eames would have to get Cobb to retrieve their point man.

Arthur, like the mystery he always had been, chose option number 3, aka, generally acting like a sensible, non-idiotic adult. He drank coffee over the morning papers, looked up when Eames entered the kitchen, his gaze giving nothing away. Eames paused in the doorway, waited a beat then spread his arms wide, leer in place.

‘Morning, darling. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.’

He got a lifted eyebrow for his trouble.

Cobb had some fucking weird friends.

But no one has ever said Eames wasn’t an opportunitist.

 

 

 

‘This is turning into a regular thing isn’t it?’

Eames pulled his lips off Arthur’s dick with a grimace, ‘seriously? We’re talking about it now?’

Arthur’s shoulders shook with barely suppressed laughter, ‘No, no, carry on, I’m just thinking aloud.’

‘well, obviously I’m doing it very wrong then.’ Eames did the tongue thing and Arthur made a half choked noise in his throat.

The silence suited Eames just fine; he thought maybe he liked this newly hushed Arthur best. It’s so easy, just the two of them, and Arthur’s quivering muscles beneath his tongue and fingertips. The moment could stretch on forever, not tainted by the past and not weighed down by the future, simple in its basic pleasure.

 

 

 

Life went on like that for a while.

They shared a house, they worked the occasional jobs together, when the game was on they sat down on the ratty couch and polished off a few beers. At night they slept soundly, tangled up in sweaty limbs. Didn’t matter that there were no confessions said, no promises made. Eames wanted to.  

Sometimes, when Arthur was lying on the bed, flipping through an old magazine, face half lit by the afternoon sun, the words boiled up inside Eames, hot and urgent. He had to reach for Arthur---his furrowed brow, those bony fingers--to press the messages home with lingering kisses.

Later, year later, he wonders if any of them got through.

Years later, Cobb calls him a hard man to love.

But so was Arthur, Eames muses, so was Arthur.

Arthur who smiled back at him with such warmth in his eyes, such uncomplicated affection, Eames thought he’d heard everything that was unsaid.

 

 

 

Eight months was the longest Eames has stayed in one place. He was starting to get itchy feet. So when a job in Tokyo popped up, he literally jumped at the chance, eager to be a nameless face in a strange city again. Arthur watched him pack with a variation of Expression # 2: mild.

‘Try not to piss off any ninja while you’re at it.’

‘Aww, darling, I didn’t know you cared.’ Eames swiped a thumb across those sharp cheekbones, ‘wanna come with? It’ll be fun, dodging ninja and deadly chopsticks.’

Arthur’s lips curled upwards, ‘Unlike some people, I actually have a job.’

‘Skip it, call in sick, whatever.’ Eames pulled him in by the waist,’ we can be on a whole new continent by tomorrow, think of it as an all expense paid holiday.’

‘So forgery is your chosen career path?’ Arthur gave him a quick peck on the lips, ‘forgive me if I prefer something legal from time to time.’

‘An office would suffocate me within a week, you know that.’ Eames nuzzled against Arthur’s cheek, ‘now be good, or you won’t get any presents.’

Arthur squeezed his wrist briefly before letting go. Eames could feel his eyes tracking him all the way out of the flat.

 

 

 

The job lasted just under 3 weeks, by then Eames has learned how to order a beer in Japanese, and a dozen swear words. The city buzzed with restless energy, night and day, the sky ablaze with artificial light. He closed the curtains and dreamt of Arthur’s flat, the water stains on the bathroom ceiling, Arthur’s scratchy sheets, his dark, dark eyes.

Arthur came to pick him up from the airport. Eames held him tight and breathed in.

 

 

 

‘You’re like a selkie.’ Arthur once said, fingers combing through Eames’ hair.

‘A what?’

‘Selkie, half man, half seal. Sometimes they’ll shed their skin to live among us. Out of curiosity I suppose. But the sea calls to them constantly, so they can never stay on the land for long.’

Eames wrinkled his nose, ‘A seal? Are you calling me fat?’

Arthur snorted, it was maddeningly adorable, ‘No, I’m just saying, this, you, running backwards and forwards, it’s like you can’t be free of the sea.’

‘Are you asking me to stay?’ Eames searched his face, voice steady. It was a loaded question, but he think he might just be ready.

‘No.’

Eames had no idea what was going through Arthur’s head, he’s felt like that since the beginning, since forever. The man’s mind was like his favoured dreamscape, full of paradoxes and dead ends.

‘People can change, Arthur.’

‘And then you wish they haven’t.’ Arthur pressed his lips against Eames’ temple, ‘go to sleep, it’s nothing.’

 

 

 

Cobb was the one who gave Eames The Talk. In a way, he has been both a father and a brother to Arthur, so Eames wasn’t all that surprised.

‘What’s going on between you two?’

Eames barely stopped an eye roll at Cobb’s interrogation face, ‘If, by that extremely unspecific question, you meant what my intentions were towards dear Arthur, then yes, we’re dating, happy?’

‘And by dating, you mean you come and go as you please, and expect Arthur to hang around?’

‘Now you’re just making me sound bad.’ Eames scrubbed a hand over his face, ‘look, at the end of the day, I’m coming back to him aren’t I? And I’m not even screwing around behind his back.’

‘I’m not saying you are.’ Cobb gave him a hard look, ‘but he needs more than that.’

‘I don’t know what he needs, Cobb.’ Eames rested his forehead against the bar; he could feel a headache building.

‘Why don’t you ask him?’

If Eames was an honest man, he’d say he was a selfish bastard who was too scared of what the answer might be.

Luckily, dishonesty was his profession.

 

 

 

The physical distance was never the core problem. In fact, Eames proudly declared it was the legitimate excuse for lots of phone sex. Arthur didn’t choke upon hearing this, or so he said. Didn’t mean Eames was going to stop calling him at random times of the day, describing in great and loving details how he’d have his wicked ways with Arthur. Despite all his protests, Arthur always picked up the phone, Eames took that as silent approval.

And this one time Arthur called at 7 o’clock in the morning, according to Eames alarm clock. He groaned and almost knocked the buzzing thing onto the floor.

‘H’lo?’

Nothing but statics from the other side, Eames flopped onto his back, yawning, ‘you know, the whole point is to say something.’ Yeah, Arthur sucked at talking dirty, but this was a whole new level.

‘No, just want to listen.’

Eames wasn’t fully awake yet, the automatic reply ‘to what?’ almost slipped out. Fortunately Arthur cut in before he could.

‘Get yourself off for me.’

‘Jesus---‘ Eames laughed breathlessly, his hands already sneaking into the drawstring pants. Always the quiet ones huh?

After, when Eames was dazed and sated, gone all boneless on the rumpled bed, Arthur let out an almost inaudible sign,

‘Miss you.’

Eames cradled the phone to his ear, ‘Miss you too, love. Thank god it’s almost done, I’ll be back soon.’

A pause, ‘I know.’

‘Real soon. Wish you were here though, I have a friggin sea outside the window, as in, my room is under. It’s some cool shit.’

‘You can always show me when you get back.’ There was sound of liquid sloshing around, probably wine being poured.

‘Yeah, but it’s not the same. In a dream it’s all vague. Here, here it’s real, your mind cannot achieve that level of details on its own.’

‘True,’ Arthur carried on evenly, ‘well, as I said, missed you.’

 

 

 

The police had Cobb’s house surrounded when Eames got there, he swore under his breath and swung the car around. He heard the news; they were treating this as murder until proven otherwise.

He tried not to picture Mal, beautiful Mal, crumpled against the side walk, long dead even before her swan dive.

Arthur pulled the door open just as he jammed the keys in, hair dishevelled.

‘I’m going with him, Mexico, for now.’

Typical Arthur, short, to the point. Eames nodded, ‘Is he ok?’

Silence.

He breathed out, ‘Lemme know when you get there.’

‘What about you?’

‘Darling, it’s me we’re talking about here. Can fend for myself.’

Arthur left, bearing the PASIV and a set of lopsided teeth marks on his clavicle.

4 hours later Eames got a message from an unknown number, he got up from the floor and emptied the ashtray.

 

 

 

The flat was no emptier with Arthur out of it. In their line of work, they all learned to travel light and accumulated little belongs along the way. No houseful of pictures starring young Arthur, no old guitars smoothed down by a favourite tune.

He wished he had that, some small token he could just look at and say hey, remember that time?  

The only things Arthur left behind were takeaway boxes and mismatched socks wedged between sofa cushions.

Wasn’t that the tragedy of the bloody century.

He pack up his bags and left three days later, it was just a cheap flat with leaky pipes and peeling walls.

It wasn’t home.

 

 

 

The thing is, he can’t even blame Cobb for taking Arthur away back then. Because,

‘It ain’t gonna work, one way or another.’ Eames shrugs.

Cobb watches him. He’s got the most peculiar eye colour, Eames can’t decide if they’re blue or green or grey, like the murky sky of London.

He wants to ask about Mal, about how Cobb got over someone like that, or if he did at all. But he’s not that much of a bastard, not even in his most drunken moment.

After all, it’s only a goodbye for him, it’s nothing like a funeral.

 

 

 

When something as big as murder hung over your head, the best strategy was to keep moving. Besides, Cobb’s former associates would be instantly tuned in to this new development. Anyone could be bought with the right price; the crowd Cobb used to deal with was no exception, perhaps especially them.

Eames joined those two as often as he could; he had his own gig, and his own demons snapping at his heels. He might be a brilliant forger, didn’t mean he was as untraceable in real life.

If Arthur kissed a bit more frantically, pushed a bit more forcefully during those reunions, Eames didn’t mind. Life on the road hasn’t been treating Arthur well; he’d always liked schedules in life, the list writer. Now he was running with no clear agenda, except to keep their heads above water. He hardly got a full night’s sleep these days; Eames would often startle awake and find an empty space beneath the covers.

‘Come back to bed, you’ll only give yourself an ulcer.’ He plastered himself over Arthur’s bent back, mumbling into the shell of his ear. The dark haired man relaxed slightly, leaning back into the warmth,

‘I dunno why you seem to love it, re-locating every few weeks. I don’t have time to think, to _breathe_. I just---‘

It was a bad day when Arthur was the emotional one.

‘Your problem, is you think too much darling.’

Arthur snapped the laptop shut, ‘Thank god, at last one functional brain between the 3 of us.’

‘Should I be offended on Cobb’s behalf?’ Eames rubbed soothing circles down his arms and sides, ‘It’ll get better love, we’ll be alright.’

He couldn’t picture when, or how. But damned if they were going to be collateral damage in Cobb’s mess.

 

 

 

Eames was, if he might say so himself, extremely well behaved at the wedding reception. He didn’t get drunk, and he was wearing a tie, a real tie for god’s sake, none of that clip on shit.

Somehow he missed the newly weds first dance, as he was having an entirely too fascinating conversation with a red head. He was sure they looked amazing together though, Arthur and Ariadne.

Cobb was the best man, predictably.

 

 

 

The end wasn’t dramatic at all, there wasn’t a big fight and no one cheated on anyone else. Eames just got it without being told, he was trained to pick up clues after all, and bloody good at it. Plus, Arthur has never mastered the art of subtlety all that well.

He waited until the job was over; they didn’t need any extra complications on top. The stakes were high enough.

When Cobb passed through customs with a slightly pinched expression, the rest of the team released a collective breath. Arthur caught Eames’ eyes over the bustling crowd, his smile radiating relief. Eames’ breath hitched for a second; that was one of the first things he’d noticed about Arthur----the stupid, stupid devotion that lit him up like a fucking beacon.

His own grin didn’t waver.

‘So, I guess this is it then.’

Something in the wording or the tone must have tipped Arthur off; he looked up sharply, squinting a bit.

‘Hey, stop doing that. You’re too pretty to be getting frown lines.’ Eames smoothed a palm over Arthur’s forehead, voice softening,

‘It’s been good Arthur, great really. We just, want different things I suppose. You’ve probably had your fill of adventures for a life time. But I’ll always be the drifter, that’s who I am.’

When Arthur spoke, he was staring at a spot behind Eames, his jaw taut, ‘What if it’s enough?’

‘Has it ever been?’

After a long silence, Arthur met his gaze again, a wistful curl on his lips,

‘Perhaps not.’

Eames cupped his jaw in both hands, thumbs stroking lightly,

‘So go, go live your life baby.’

It was probably the single most heart-felt thing to have ever come out of his mouth.

He threw away the two tickets to Heathrow, and picked a country he liked the sound of from the overhead screen.

Forever was nothing more than a half remembered dream.

 

 

 

 

Eames got the invitation 6 months later.

The address on the envelop was written in Cobb’s bold, tilting scrawl.

Traitor.

He briefly wondered if Hawaii being too far away from Paris would justify his absence.

 

 

 

The rest, as they say, is history.

 

 

 

Cobb sees him before he notices Cobb, or so he assumes. Eames is leaning against a lamppost, shirt stretched thin across broad shoulders. The stance invites speculating looks from passersby while dismissing them entirely.

Eames looks up when the headlights hit him, smirk crooked and smug. He saunters up to the car, lazy charm rolling off him in palpable waves. Cobb feels more than hears the door slams shut again.

‘Missed me?’

Cobb silently starts the engine, looking at Eames evenly until he huffs out a breath and clicks the seat belt on. Cobb knows him far too well---don’t react, or he’ll latch onto the cracks like a leech.

Then Eames has to lean across the space and drop his palm in Cobb’s lap, casual as you please, that damn purr of his ghosting over goose-bumped skin.

‘So, how are we doing this? Have a place in mind or I can blow you right here.’

Cobb shoots a dirty look back,

‘Believe me, I’m not desperate enough to crash my car.’

Eames chuckles, relaxing back to his seat and gets comfortable, the heel of one hand not so subtly rubs against his crotch.

‘Well then, drive faster will ya?’

 

 

 

The first time he got pushed against a wall by Eames, the guy was still vertical purely by luck.

‘Come on, bring out the PASIV. I can give you the technicoloured version of your wife. How’s that?’

Cobb would have shoved him away, but then he’d have to clean up brain matter from the carpet once Eames toppled over.

‘No.’

‘Why the hell not? It’s gotta be better than wanking to a picture.’

‘I don’t need another man’s interpretation of Mal.’

‘That,’ Eames hiccupped, ‘is the stupidest fucking excuse I’ve ever heard.’

Cobb let go, ‘Do you want my version of Arthur then?’

Eames didn’t clock him one, he was too busy passing out.

 

 

 

Contrary to common belief, he doesn’t do this often (Arthur loved it, but that’s neither here nor there). It’s not like there is a shortage of people lining up to suck his dick, for his looks if not for his winning personality.

So Eames honestly doesn’t know why his mouth goes dry when Cobb swipes a thumb across his bottom lip, all white teeth and blown pupils. The man could command a corpse back to life with those eyes, Eames will give him that.

‘Come on, open up.’

That’s how he finds himself flat on his back, a half naked Cobb kneeling over his head, flat stomach quivers with the effort to hold back a little. Although Eames’s throat feels raw already. The angle is awkward, he has to crane his neck to the side. And he can’t use his hands to tilt Cobb’s hips forward since his wrists are pinned down. Once Cobb is convinced he won’t try and break the hold, he frees one hand to cup the back of Eames’ head, stroking his sweaty temple in a patronizing manner,

‘That’s it, fuck, keep doing that. Knew you’d be fucking born for this, good with your mouth huh?’

Eames is torn between a snort and a shudder, he groans around the flesh as it slides in deeper, bringing tears to his eyes. The vibration had Cobb slapping a forearm against the headboard, chest heaving. His eyes dance with mirth like he’s appreciating the view as well as laughing at a private joke. Ungrateful son of a bitch.

By the time Eames feels his jaw is about to unhinge, he pulls off sloppily and lays open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the base; the hair there scratchy against his swollen lips. Cobb swears, head thrown back as Eames sucks on his balls, rolling them lightly with his tongue.

Jesusholychrist He’s not gonna last.

Cobb hauls himself up a bit, blindly grabbing the tube on the dresser. He squeezes some out then tosses the thing aside, dripping lube all over Eames’ chest as he reaches behind himself. It should be disgusting but Eames doesn’t give a flying fuck, not as long as he gets to watch the way Cobb rubs around in between his cheeks, feeling for it. His whole body flushes pink, hips lifting up---

They both groan when the finger finally slips inside. Cobb is beyond words now, just grunting noises; he sounds as if he’s in pain, as if he wants more, needs more. Eames holds him still as the tip of his tongue travels up, up, traces the sweat soaked skin around Cobb’s navel, tasting salt and musk.

‘Come on, sweetheart, get it nice n wet…’

Cobb loses it all over the pillow, a few blobs land on Eames’ cheek. He licks them up after, while he’s jerking Eames off in rough, almost painful strokes.

 

 

 

Eames was the one who brought up the topic again---asking, offering, whatever. He was done with the moping around, the heart to heart. It was some much needed comfort, and Cobb was one of the few he trusted, had always trusted, strangely enough.

‘If we do this, we do it sober, and honest.’ Cobb grabbed his hair and pulled, none too gently, forcing their eyes to meet. Eames tried to focus through the haze of insomnia, Cobb’s voice grating on his already bruised nerves.

‘No games, no hiding, no bullshit.’

He emphasized each word with an almost vicious shake,

‘You look at me when you want this. This is reality now. And we’ll go on.’

‘No problem.’ Eames said when his head stopped spinning, ‘bout damn time.’

 

 

 

 ‘On your side,’ an arm wraps around his shoulder, pulling him back, ‘legs up, like this.’

Cobb is vaguely aware that his muscles are gonna kill him tomorrow, but right now all he feels is soft panting down his neck, a cold finger tracing the cleft of his ass, probing. He gulps down the too warm air, bending his knees forward to ease its way in. It’s a bit rougher than what he normally likes, but he’s left that a mile back. Then something blunt and sheathed in plastic is there, one smooth thrust that pushes his breath out in bursts of noisy exhale. He reaches back to grip Eames’s hip shakily, wanting a minute to adjust to the intrusion but unable to ask. Unable to do anything but hold on.

Eames barely gives him enough time to draw in a deep, shuddering breath.

They rock together, starting slow, then faster as they find a rhythm. Cobb turns his face into the damp pillow, muffling the groans. They aren’t touching anywhere else except Eames’s arm across his chest, and the thick length filling him up, splitting him open. Cobb snakes a hand down to shakily fist his cock, a raspy chuckle ruffles the short hair at the back of his neck,

‘yeah, fuck your own hand, harder, wanna see---‘

Cobb grits his teeth and pushes back, taking more, more, god, so good. Eames’ hips start stuttering, he slams in, once, then just **holds** it there, grinding and nudging in tiny circles. Cobb is coming almost before he realises, his body like a string wound tight around a single trill, convulsing helplessly. The very air around them buzzes against naked skin.

Eames goes for a shower; Cobb is too fucked out to care. He hopes Eames at least closes the front door when he leaves in the morning.

 

 

 

The best thing isn’t that neither of them expects more from the other.

The best thing is, they don’t even want to expect more.

Convenient really. They get to have this, and the things they value most in their respective lives---Eames and his gypsy soul, Cobb and his beautiful kids. They’ll never give those up, never plan to.

Eames wonders if either of them is capable of love again. They’ve both been cut deep and the wounds still tender. Right now they’re just taking shelter until something better comes along, something worth hurtling themselves over the edge for, and soars.

Perhaps, perhaps.

 

 

 

 

_Who dares to love forever,_

_When love itself must die._

 


End file.
